Unnatural Affinity

I’m Maxine Luchessi and I’m a pyrokinetic telepath.

I’m different and I don’t mean it in the cool way where everyone wants to express their individuality through their mutual need to stand out. Everyone claims they’re one of a kind and there’s no one else in the world like them, which is fine. But how far does individuality go before you find someone just like you? Explain doppelgangers. I mean, out of all the people in the world one can’t simply be the only one in the world.

But in my case, I truly am an exception to the rules.

I hear voices, voices in my head that aren’t my thoughts. And I can control and create fire.

I’ve been able to hear the thoughts of those around me my entire life. Some thoughts are stronger than others depending on the aura of the host, so sometimes it takes more of an effort to tune it out. Unbelievably, I even remember my parents speaking around me as a baby and I somehow slid into their minds, though I have no idea what I listening to. Their thoughts were very incoherent, yet there was this undeniable sense of love and warmth that always swarmed me when I returned there.

The fire came into play when I was two and almost burned the house down. I don’t remember the entire scenario, but my parents say my toy ran out of batteries while I beg to differ. I believe something bigger than what my parents were ready for happened. They weren’t sure what to do with me and told me a toy malfunctioned to salvage my childhood.

It all started back when my parents were in college and decided to be Curious Georges when it came to experimental studies. They let professors and doctors prick and prod them as legally possible, claiming they were helping them gain more knowledge about the research of anxiety and depression among college students for the psychology department. There was a high history of suicides at their school linked to those mental illnesses. And my parents were determined to be the ones to further the cause as if something in their bodies was going to crack the case.

They were young and dumb as the saying goes and not once did they ever think of procreating, especially with one another. They weren’t seriously dating until after the experiment when my mother reached the epiphany that my father was attractive. I blame the drugs she was injected with rather than the fact she never knew what she needed was right in front of her type of deal. But then again, I could be wrong people can have a change of heart.

Both of my parents have always claimed to have had a special connection with one another since the first time they met their freshman year in a psychology class. The friendship kicked off quickly and they stayed friends up until their senior year. Then the romance fell into place somewhere around that time.

When I was born years later, they were obviously ecstatic. It wasn’t until I was about two years old did they realize I wasn’t a normal child. They told me there were times when I would cry from hunger or lack of sleep and things around me would catch fire. The longer I cried the bigger the flames.

Naturally, they freaked when it occurred. It happened so often that they were sure it related to their college days when they were human lab rats. As I grew, my parents feared for my safety and worried at the possibility of not having another child because they’d always wanted a big family. There wasn’t a way to check if the next baby would turn out like me. It wasn’t like there was a doctor out there who specialized in special cases like me. As much as it killed them, my parents found solace in making me their only child. Even if the guilt of raising me as an only child settled into their hearts.

My abilities started to morph and change when I started going to school as I was exposing myself to various types of people from all ages, ethnicities, and backgrounds. There were plenty of times when I would find myself answering the thoughts of those around me. I couldn’t help the way they sounded so clear to me. I moved schools twice. At my first school, I was a victim of bullying, and at my second school the teacher tried to enroll me in group therapy because she assumed I was sensitive to those around me when I told her it wasn’t nice to call the students “little shits.” Of course, she didn’t say it out loud but it made her paranoid around me.

My parents were constantly looking out for me and taught me how to hone my “talents” as they called them. My dad always said he’d rather I learned to control it than have the government find me and treat me like their own experiment. His biggest fear was having me face the same situation he did in college of being tested on for hours on end—only it’d be involuntary. He said if the government knew what I could do, I’d be taken away from him forever, and I believed him every single time. I still do.

I was seven years old when I figured out for myself how dangerous I could be when I accidentally set my neighbor on fire and scarred the entire family as they watched their poor brother burn alive in front of them until he lost the good fight. I didn’t mean to do it and even now as an adult I’m not sure how I was able to pinpoint him amongst everyone else around me. I couldn’t stop the flames once they’d started and I couldn’t turn away once he’d ignited. As soon as it was over and his body was black and charred, I burst into tears. My body shook violently soon after the street was filled with authorities. Knowing I was the cause of their son’s spontaneous combustion, we moved as soon as possible and thoughts of men in black suits chasing us down the highway plagued me for many nights.

Burning my neighbor from my bedroom wasn’t even the worst of it. I wasn’t aware of the pressures that came with being supernatural. I didn’t know being invited to my neighbor’s funeral would leave a permanent scar on my soul. I didn’t know seeing the obituary of an eleven-year-old would cause self-loathing and make me wish I never saw the age of eleven because I didn’t deserve it. I never knew I’d be haunted by those images years after it happened and I’d be an adult plagued by my secret sin.

After the incident, I tried not to use my powers by shutting off all thoughts and emotions so there would be no more random fires and secrets popping into my head. Little did we all know, the lack of using the gifts I was born with would tamper with my personality and give me excruciating headaches to the point where I would vomit uncontrollably and be hospitalized. When I finally had the chance to use my powers to relieve the pain from too much pent up energy, I ended up tearing down my wall and breaking every window in the house as my nose and eyes trickled with blood.

Now at twenty-five, I’ve turned into the master of discretion and I blend right in. I know how to control the powers my parents blessed—or cursed—me with. It turned out my parents could have more kids and they were perfectly normal. Whatever was leftover from those experiments somehow transferred all into my body and left my parents during conception.

My younger brother and sister have healthy heartbeats and no signs of anything outrageous affecting their futures as functioning human beings. My brother Roland is a junior in high school and my sister Peyton is a freshman. I adore the little brats and I’m glad they don’t have to go through the issues I had growing up. I think our family would have found solace in a hole far away from civilization if all three of us ended up as weirdoes.

I now work as a bartender in downtown Los Angeles at a nightclub called Pulse. After working at the same nightclub for three years, my days as a night owl were coming to a close because I was starting a job hunt for a new job. I was ready to start my career and being a college graduate for three years was long enough. The night scene was starting to grow boring, and I needed something new since my personal life could only blossom so far before I felt like I was literally smothering my true nature.

I was mixing several drinks of assorted colors between green, blue, and purple under the strobe lights above the bar. The booming music from the deejay pounded in my chest and I moved to the beat, losing myself in the song as I poured. Several of my coworkers bumped hips with me as they passed by and even started singing along to some of the songs with the customers. The crowd was pumped and the night was always young in here. It was definitely one of the hottest nightclubs in LA.

I was wearing my normal attire of shorts, and a bustier top that crossed in the back and made my breasts perkier. The black choker I wore matched the red and black in my top and the small lining on the pockets of my shorts. Nothing beat getting bigger tips than showing a little skin. From my ankles down, it was very casual. Almost too casual because I was wearing tennis shoes since I was on my feet all night. But my manager Chanel didn’t care considering no one could see my feet from behind the bar.

“What can I get you guys started with?” I asked a group of young men fresh from the office. I didn’t miss their lingering eyes…or thoughts.

I wonder if she’s taken.

I would fuck her until my dick fell off.

Her tits are fucking amazing. I just want to bury my face in them.

“Hi, pretty lady,” the one in the middle spoke up. “Can you get us started with six tequila shots?”

“Coming right up, gentlemen!”

I started working on their shots in the corner of the bar. I looked around the space and noticed it wasn’t as crowded as I thought and probably wouldn’t be for at least another two hours. It was still fairly early in the evening probably closer to nine-thirty. I ran my hand through my hair before working on the next set of shots. While I was searching for a small container to put the limes in, a young man with piercing green eyes like an emerald watched me move about.

“Can I help you?” I asked, not paying him much attention. I get men like him all the time and I’ve learned to not make eye contact for too long. I may have learned how to control my powers, but it doesn’t mean I won’t use them if I need to.

With that said, I opened my mind to hear his thoughts and all I got was static. I was more confused than shocked by the nothingness in my head. I nearly asked him if he was the one causing the emptiness in my head.

My expression must have amused him because he smiled. His teeth glowed under the illuminating lights, straight and unnaturally white. “Can I get a beer, please?”

“Sure. Just give me a minute.”

I walked off to give the three smirking men their six shots and limes and cashed in their payment with tip. When I returned, the man with the luminous green eyes and pearlescent teeth was still grinning.

“What kind of beer do you want?” I asked with a smile of my own, leaning slightly against the bar.

I took a second to check him out. He was wearing a three-piece suit with the buttons of the jacket undone. It was all black except for a sleek crimson tie. He had dark hair like midnight, resting softly against his golden skin, and a strong, square jaw complimented by full lips capable of talking any woman out of her panties. My eyes instantly darted to his fingers. I didn’t see a ring but that didn’t mean anything.

“Surprise me,” he said with a smirk. The playful challenge in his eyes was enough to count me in.

I went to grab him a beer, taking one from the back with a bit of a sweet pear flavor and apple mix. He seemed like the kind of guy who didn’t mess around with the sweet drinks, so I gave him one with a hint of it to see if he’d drink it even if he didn’t enjoy it. Judging from the way he was looking at me, I could have given him dog piss and he still would have drunk it.

I handed him the beer, our fingers brushing in the slightest, and waited for him to take a swig. His eyes never left mine as he brought the bottle to his lips, muscles in his throat contracting as he swallowed. He sat the drink down, moving his forefinger and thumb along the neck of the bottle…very...slowly. Using the condensation, his fingers glided over the glass bottle in a dangerously seductive motion. It was nearly hypnotizing.

“Did you like it?” I asked curiously, ignoring the twinkle in his eye. “I can get you something else if you’d like.”

“It’s sweet.”

Besides, not only would I be a jumbled mass of need in front of him, my powers were always shaky when I haven’t had sex in a long time and a potential prospect was near. It’s been like that ever since I lost my virginity in high school. The first time it happened, I nearly panicked because thought I was losing control of my abilities and I was going to expose myself. Unexpected flames were forming in my palms and everything I touched started to disintegrate almost upon impact. And no one’s thoughts were safe not even my family. I couldn’t tell the difference between a person’s thought and an actual verbal response.

Luckily, I’d had a boyfriend who I was regularly sleeping with so I was able to quickly conclude that it was the need for sex that fueled the turbulence. It was a bit strange considering it made me seem like a sex feign when I finally got my fix. The more I matured the less unpredictable my powers were when it came to sex. In more recent years, it’s affected my mind more so than my flames, which was more efficient and safer. I’ve come to the it’s probably because I’ve learned to hold out longer with precise mental and physical control before finally giving in.

It’s been four months, though it ended with me breaking things off. We remained as close as we possibly could, considering we weren’t serious from the start. I’d met him at the gym and after running into each other so many times we eventually began our physical relationship. He worked there, so we’d work out together or I’d take a class then we’d go at it in the back of one of our cars or take a trip to the other’s apartment. At the time, I was clinging to him because the sex was great and he wasn’t threatening in the sense that he would pry too much into who I really was. Though I always wanted someone who would understand my unusual soul and fill the aching void in my life, breaking through my intangible walls was the real challenge. I didn’t feel like he could handle it. Or maybe it was me.

Mr. Playful took another swallow of his drink, this time much slower than before as if he could feel the way it affected me the first time. I averted my gaze.

“You’re toying with me,” I said, getting right to the point.

A slight upturn of his lips, the motion sinful and reckless. “I didn’t know bartenders were so easily moved by their customers.”

I grit my teeth together because he was right. Yes, I worked in a nightclub but this was still my job no matter how I dressed or the atmosphere. I had to be professional not charmed by a man I’m probably only going to see once in my lifetime. Or every other night depending on if he wanted to be a regular.

I cleared my throat, going for a different approach. My tone was more controlled and clear. “We’re not. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Tell me your name.”

I hesitated. I fought with myself if I should tell him or not. I tried to read his thoughts one more time and I hit the static barrier again. Usually, I lie to my male customers about my name in case I ever run across a psycho. Regulars were the only exception to the rule and he wasn’t a regular.

“Is it a secret?” he asked when I didn’t answer. He cocked his head to the side and a slight frown graced his heartbreaking features.

“From you—? Yes.”

He chuckled, the sound wrapping around my body in intricate tendrils. I cursed myself for shivering in front of him. “I’m Kale.”

I knew this game. He thinks if he tells me his name I’ll give mine. Not a chance. “If that’s all, it’ll be six dollars.”

Kale slipped a twenty on the counter with the fluidity of a snake. I took the money, watching him like a hawk. His expression gave nothing away while I analyzed him. His emerald eyes, now reminding me of the luscious greens of an evergreen forest, seemed to be questioning something about me too. They never moved from my face and it was unnerving to have someone stare with such attention. Feeling like he was invading some personal part of me, I walked away without another word. I completed his transaction on the computer, feeling his eyes digging into my spine, my skull. I had to force myself not to turn my head and feed into my curiosity to see if he was still looking.

When I brought his change back, he told me to keep it and I thanked him, though I could tell he wanted to continue our dying conversation.

“What are you?” he asked suddenly with a more serious tone.

I raised a brow because it was an odd question to ask. “A bartender.”

He continued to stare at me with those unmoving eyes. “Maybe on the outside.”